


What doesn't kill you

by squire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Assassination attempts, Crack, Denial of Feelings, Enemies (not really) to lovers, First Time, Grand Marshall Hux, Hux Is Oblivious, Kylo is oblivious, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Phasma Ships It, Supreme Leader Ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-10 04:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/squire/pseuds/squire
Summary: ..... makes you fall in love.





	What doesn't kill you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fandomlander](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomlander/gifts).



> Written to this fabulous prompt in the Kylux Valentines Exchange of 2018: 
> 
> Five times General Hux tried to kill Supreme Leader Kylo Ren; four times he failed miserably and the last time they ended up having sex.
> 
> As soon as I saw it, I knew I'd have a blast writing it, and how I did. Hope you like!

**1.**

Hux straightened the hems of his sleeves, making sure that the right one looked no different than the other, tightened the grip on the stack of datapads in his hand, forced his jaw to unclench, and finally buzzed the codepad at the door to the Supreme Leader Ren’s private quarters.

It has come to this - him doing his own dirty work again. He would’ve much preferred Phasma’s practiced touch in this particular matter - but his loyal Captain was currently floating in the bacta tank after her fateful encounter with that Rebel scum, and so Hux had to rely on the hidden blade in his greatcoat sleeve and on his own sleight of hand. It was going to be fine. He’d sliced quite the number of throats on his way up the ranks, one more standing between him and his rightful place on the throne was no big deal.

He’d perfected his plan to the last detail. Showing up at Ren’s door late into the night cycle with “unexpected urgent paperwork”- and while Ren would be perusing the files and without doubt asking Hux for clarification of some intricaties - the man had no head for politics, such a disgrace of a Leader - Hux would walk behind Ren’s chair, casually lean down over his shoulder and…

Then just a quick tap into the security feed to replace the footage of Ren’s murder with the one saved after one of Hux’s previous visits, which would show him leaving Ren’s quarters while the Supreme Leader was still alive and hale, then a couple of drinks with his fellow officers to secure an alibi for the night… and then in the morning, Hux would become who he was always destined to be. Ruler of the Galaxy.

The current, soon-to-be-replaced ruler behind the door let out an indistinct growl, no doubt angry with the late disturbance, and then the door whooshed open. Hux lifted his eyes from his respectful half-bow and the prepared greeting died on his tongue.

Ren’s feet were bare, his legs clad in soft loose trousers, and his broad chest glistened with sweat. His built-as-a-Star-Destroyer and absolutely bare chest. Hux blinked. The Supreme Leader was shirtless. Hux has never before seen him shirtless. What a shame.  _ Wait, what _ ?

“Don’t you have… a cowl, or something, to put on?” Hux screamed internally but the words already slipped out.

“By Force, not again,” Ren groaned.

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Is there anything that would require you interrupting my evening workout routine, Grand Marshal?”

Hux recovered quickly. “Yes, Supreme Leader. These reports came in just an hour ago, and I’m afraid the matters are rather time-sensitive...” he droned on as Ren let him into his quarters, motioning to a seat at the table. Hux sat down dutifully and spread the datapads in front of the other seat. Ren walked into his ‘fresher and emerged with a towel, drying off the hair at his nape. The shorter hair there clung to his wet skin in little curls. It was distracting. Hux subtly tried to loosen the collar of his own uniform. The wool fabric began to feel scratchy and constricting all of a sudden.

“No rest for the wicked, it seems,” Ren flashed him a smirk and sat down to look over the files, not bothering to cover himself. His body could have been chiseled of marble - perhaps the only thing about him befitting the title of Supreme Leader. Hux squirmed in his seat. A droplet of sweat formed between his shoulder blades. He could feel it travel down the dip of his spine. If only this was already over.

“Are you well, Grand Marshal?” Hux snapped his eyes up to meet Ren’s gaze - concerned, not suspicious. Hux didn’t know what surprised him more.

“You’re flushed - you’re not coming down with something, are you? I’m afraid the First Order can’t afford to miss one of its best assets at such a sensitive time,” Ren continued, and Hux couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His cheeks burned and his throat was parched.

“It feels - hot in here, somehow,” Hux gasped. His hands felt swollen inside his gloves.

“Of course - I’ve set the temperature up, I like it that way when I am exercising… by my word, Grand Marshal, you must be cooked alive in that greatcoat of yours!” Ren laughed, managing to sound apologetically at the same time. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I finish these?” he gestured to the datapads. Why in Malachor had Hux brought in so many?

“I’m fine,” Hux croaked. The blade in his greatcoat never felt heavier.

“You’re obviously not. Come on, Hux. This is a too late hour to observe formalities. Off with that coat, that’s an order.”

There was very little Hux could do when faced with a direct order. He took off the coat, loosened the collar of his uniform tunic, and breathed.

“See? Already better. A little slip in the protocol every now and then won’t kill anyone, Hux,” Ren joked, completely oblivious to how right he was at the moment. 

 

 

**2.**

A week later saw Hux putting the finishing touches to the scene of his  _ coup d’etat,  _ take two. This time, he’d left nothing to chance. An urgent message to the Supreme Leader’s private comm that could be easily deleted later; the environmental controls in Hux’s quarters set to a frigid level that would allow him to keep all his layers, and most importantly, the hot spiced wine laced with enough narcotics to knock out a bantha. The setting was incriminating, yes, but this time he’d also had Phasma to help him remove the body. She was freshly out of medical and as loyal as ever, even offering her services in this affair - but Hux declined. The first failed attempt had stung his pride. He was going to deal with Ren hands-on.

He’d also prepared food, some salty snacks to be served with the paperwork, to make Ren even more willing to try the hot wine. It smelled delicious - old Hux family recipe. Including the drug cocktail - Brendol didn’t get the Commandant’s post entirely by skills alone either.

Soon enough, the door chirped, announcing Ren’s presence. Hux was surprised the Supreme Leader didn’t just walk in as if he owned the place, which he seemed to think and which he technically did, after all. But Ren apparently decided to be courteous, and so Hux went to answer the door.

Losing his breath right after opening the door was becoming a frighteningly regular occurrence, Hux realised when he finally remembered to snap his jaw shut at the image that greeted him. The Supreme Leader wasn’t shirtless -  _ of course, and why was some deranged part of his brain bemoaning this fact? _ \- no; Supreme Leader Kylo Ren was clad in bespoke First Order command uniform, flawless from the starched collar down to the tips of his polished boots. The tunic was making his shoulders appear impossibly wider and the leather of his boots strained over the swell of his calves, shining so perfectly Hux wanted to lick them.  _ Wait, what? _

“Supreme Leader,” he finally remembered the purpose of this evening. “How kind of you to answer my request... Did I interrupt something important?” he waved his hand, taking in the whole of Ren’s military perfection.

“Not at all,” Ren replied, smiling a little. “You just seemed a little… disconcerted with my state of undress last time, so I thought to spare you any discomfort.”

Hux’s discomfort was currently pressing rather insistently against the front seam of his trousers. He was never more thankful for the greatcoat. And the blade! Of course, the blade.

“How thoughtful of you,” he forced a smile onto his face and let Ren in.

“It’s nothing. I do appreciate your service to the First Order, and your dedication, however late the hour,” Ren smiled back and took a seat at the table, unprompted. He dragged the first report to him and started to peruse it. His free hand wandered into the bowl of snacks and soon he was chewing absentmindedly, brows knitted in concentration as he read through the text.

“These are delicious,” he mumbled with his mouth half-full, tongue flicking out to collect a crumb that got caught at the corner of his mouth. Despite the chilly air in his rooms, Hux felt suddenly rather hot, all over again. He cursed himself internally for stalling and went to collect the jug of wine from the heating plate by the door.

“Would you care for some drink to go with it?”

Ren lifted his eyes from the reports, something like pleasant surprise flickering in his gaze.

“Only if I’m not imposing,” he said, and perhaps there was something wrong with the environmental settings because Hux could’ve sworn there was a slight flush on Ren’s cheeks.

“Not at all,” he replied smoothly, pouring the sweetly smelling wine into a glass. “I just made this, it’s still too hot for me,” he offered the drink with a mock sigh.

“Yeah, I noticed you prefer the cold,” Ren shivered visibly and accepted the glass, bringing it to his mouth and stopping at the last second when something in the report he was reading caught his attention. Hux would soon be running out of internal curse words at this rate.

Seemingly content with whatever he understood from that report, Ren lifted the glass again and sniffed the contents, eyes half-lidded in appreciation.

“Smells heavenly. What did you put in it, spice?”

_ Drop the compliments and just drink it, you moron. _ “Just a pinch. Manta pear extract and Correlian honey to sweeten it up...” Hux babbled, hoping Ren would just damn get this over with. His stomach nearly dropped through the floor when Ren’s face fell, almost comical in his sudden dismay, and he put the glass back down.

“I’m afraid I’m allergic to manta pears,” he said, regret audible in his voice. Clueless idiot.

“Really?” Hux heard himself squeak, voice gone higher with distress, as he couldn’t quite control it. Force damn it, this supremacy successorship business was taking too long!

And then Ren was out of his seat, grasping Hux’s shaking arms with his huge hands, and Hux thought,  _ this is it, he’s finally clued on and I’m going to become the gorey décor of my own cabin. _

Instead of smashing him into the wall, Ren was running his palms up and down Hux’s arms. Soothing him. Comforting him. There was nothing but concern in his warm brown eyes.

“It’s fine, Hux. You couldn’t have known - and nothing happened, see? You warned me in time. Everything’s all right.”

_ Nothing is all right, you idiot _ , Hux wanted to scream. Instead he just shivered harder, his traitorous body responding to a gentle touch it’s been missing for three decades. His hands shook so badly that he had no hope of manipulating the blade right now. He would have to wait.

Phasma was going to laugh at him so much. 

 

**3.**

Every cloud has a silver lining, Hux said to himself as he reflected on the drugged wine fail. He didn’t get to use his blade, but at least he learned a vital piece of information: Ren was allergic to manta pears. His demise from the throne was just a matter of time.

The right time, in Hux’s opinion, came two weeks later in the form of the official launching ceremony of their new line of Star Destroyers. Hux assumed that convincing Ren about the necessity of his attendance would take days - he was surprised, but pleasantly so, when Ren agreed right away. How ironic, that Ren would finally start to act like a leader when he was about to die in office.

The plan was simple this time. During the preparatory talks, Hux had again and again stressed the need for perfect attire. No ragged cowls and lightsaber-singed robes. Ren seemed to understand and promised Hux that he would show up looking his very best.

The only other step was to sneak inside the officers’ laundry room the night before the event and infuse Ren’s freshly pressed uniform with a concentrated manta pear extract.

It wouldn’t work immediately - very probably only after Ren started to sweat a little. Well, there was to be a lot of dancing, and even more tiring but necessary political talks. If the exposure through skin contact didn’t cause Ren to go into shock, it would certainly bring on at least a rash or a swelling, possibly trouble breathing - and what would be easier than to administer an injection with  _ slightly _ higher adrenaline dosage than would be healthy? Heart attacks happen.

“What’s wrong with a good old blaster shot?” Phasma called out from her ‘fresher where she was putting on - whatever she was putting on that wasn’t an armour. Hux wasn’t sure if Phasma owned anything that wasn’t chrome-plated. But much to her displeasure, she wasn’t deemed fit to carry the weight of her armour just yet.

Hux used the hand-sized mirror left on her desk to check that not a single red hair had fallen out of place on his meticulously styled head. Waiting was making him anxious.

“Have you seen the way he can stop it?” he grumbled. In fact, he guessed even Ren wouldn’t be able to stop a shot from close range, but it seemed so crude. Hux wanted to do it  _ cleverly _ .

Phasma emerged from her ‘fresher and Hux had to amend his previous opinion. She somehow managed to get hold of a silk evening gown shimmering down the length of her body like a waterfall - in the exact colour and shine of chrome. Phasma was clearly a woman committed to her aesthetics.  

“You look stunning.”

She gave him an unimpressed look and sauntered out of the door. Hux followed her in the direction of the ball room. The Supreme Leader would arrive in his own time. Nobody knew exactly when but Hux had a fairly good guess that it would be late.

Which is why it came as a nasty shock when Hux and Phasma arrived into the grand hall to find the festivities in full swing, and most of the elder High Command officers and First Order beneficiaries in a gaggle around… was that Ren?!

“Oh Captain, how splendid that you could join us.” Ren’s voice was deep and intricate like the embroidery patterns on his very low cut neckline. He turned to the rest of the men with a rustle of heavy and expensive fabrics around his hips. “Gentlemen, may I introduce to you the most beautiful and lethal weapon in the First Order’s arsenal. Phasma, the Captain of our troops.”

“Now,  _ that’s _ a compliment,” Phasma muttered to Hux and gave the Supreme Leader a bright smile.

“And of course, my Grand Marshal. But no need to introduce him - you certainly know who it is that  _ really  _ runs the First Order,” Ren’s painted lips quirked upwards and all the old stuffy men laughed politely. Some with very palpable disappointment. Hux would have basked in it if he wasn’t currently busy trying to find his metaphorical footing. Hells, quite possibly literal footing. His knees felt like jelly.

Ren wasn’t wearing his uniform. He was wearing a long dark robe that shimmered with thousands sparkles of light when he moved, with a cape of some black sheer material framing his figure like a living shadow. He looked… perfect.

He wasn’t going to have an allergic reaction tonight. And by the time he’d put on the uniform next, the extract would be long gone stale.  

“He cleaned up rather well, didn't he?” Phasma murmured into Hux’s ear as they watched Ren swanning around the room, charming his way into the good graces of the most difficult benefactors. Whether it was the result of his dazzling good looks or he was using the Force, Hux didn't know. He also tried not to be jealous, and then not to think about why he was in the first place. 

 

**4.**

Intricate plans, wine, gaudy events: it was all  _ too clever _ . Hux finally accepted the truth in Phasma’s statement. There was nothing like good old blaster shot.

Of course, Hux couldn’t be the one firing it. That had to be the Resistance.

Ren had a reckless habit of diving behind the enemy lines, evading death with mind-boggling maneuvers and the cover fire of the Finalizer’s weapons. Oftentimes, while they were still just the Knight and the General, Hux had to call him back personally when he got out of the cover range - but who was the Grand Marshal, now, to issue orders to his Supreme Leader?

And if the enemy fire wouldn’t get him, the kill switch Hux has hidden inside of the Silencer would do the job.

The hangar was a flurry of activity, multiple Resistance starfighters incoming - perhaps all they’ve left, thrown into a last desperate attack - when Ren turned to Hux with a wide grin. It sat slightly crooked on his face and it shouldn’t make him look so young and dashing as it did. Hux hated himself for noticing.

“I hear you were quite the sharpshooter in the Academy,” he said. “I could use a good gunner with me today, to better concentrate on flying.”

“Me? But surely–”

“Come on, Hux. Remember what you told me, about giving an example from the front lines? I think you were right. But you are the commander of my armies, the soldiers look up to you more than to me. What better time to give them that example than now?”

How ironic that it was Hux’s own words that would come around and bite him in the arse.

And really, who was the Grand Marshall to defy orders of his Supreme Leader? Hux flipped the safety of the kill switch remote in his pocket back on and climbed into the TIE.

 

*

 

“Admit it, Armitage. You’re useless at assassination.”

Hux knocked back the drink Phasma poured him and groaned, letting his head fall back into the plush cushion of her sofa.

“And what was I supposed to do?” he lifted his glass for a refill. “Blow us  _ both _ out of the sky?”

“That’d be a way to solve this problem with you two,” Phasma muttered.

“What?”

“Nevermind,” she sighed. “Besides, you almost  _ did  _ get blown out of the sky.”

“Yes, because the bridge crew followed my orders and didn’t cover the Silencer,” Hux spat.

“But you did pretty well for yourself up there, Grand Marshal,” Phasma smirked. And the worst was, she was right. Hux thumped his head back down and closed his eyes.

They  _ have _ taken down an impressive number of enemy crafts, and Hux  _ did _ enjoy it. When he wasn’t busy praying for his life, or laughing at the ridiculousness his life had become. Ren flew them like a madman, his answering laughter cracking through the line of their comm, and Hux couldn’t deny it. He  _ was _ having the time of his life.

Up until the moment when one stray shot blew up their engines and the Silencer began careening towards the ice-covered surface of the planet below. Ren did his best in turning their fall into a glide using the Silencer’s excessive wingspan, but there was no safe landing without engine power.

Except Hux forgot that there were many sorts of power in the universe…

“He climbed out,” he whined, the drink in his glass sloshing and nearly spilling with the half-drunken gesture accompanying his words, “he fucking climbed out of the TIE and stood himself fucking  _ up _ on it and then just–” Hux hiccuped - “he  _ lowered  _ us slowly to the ground. With the Force. Can you believe it?”

Phasma nodded. Several times. Or she just had several heads. Hux wasn’t sure.

“That must have been impressive,” she observed.

“Awesome,” Hux corrected her. “And you call me, ugh, useless. I dare you–” he pointed at her, and this time the drink did splash over the rim of his glass, “–I dare  _ you _ try killing someone this powerful.”

“Well,  _ I _ don’t want him dead,” she smirked.

“And you think I do?” Hux roared, triumphant. Then he remembered himself. “Fuck, I do.”

“Sure you do,” Phasma soothed him and took away his glass. “To bed with you, Grand Marshal.”

 

**5.**

Phasma was his best (if the only one) friend, Hux decided. Not only she was always game when he needed someone to drink with but she was also willing to battle his emotional hangover in a few rounds of sparring the next day.

She was officially released from medical a couple of weeks ago and very slowly getting back into her training regime. No weights yet, and nothing too strenuous.

“Kicking your scrawny arse in unarmed combat is never too strenuous,” she told Hux, wrapping the tape around her knuckles and grinning at his sour expression.

“Remind me, why am I your friend again?” Hux shook out his arms and jumped from foot to foot. His head was all right - the hangover pills Phasma gave him worked marvels - but his mood was at its lowest.

“Because I am always supportive of you,” she said and kicked his feet from under him.

It was perhaps to be expected but it still came as a surprise to Hux that for the first time he knew her, Phasma was more talk than action. She tried hard not to let it show but her recent injuries were slowing her down, and soon Hux recovered enough to dodge her attack, grab her from behind, evade her sharp elbow and bring her to the floor in a heap of limbs - and when he caught his breath again, she was pinned on the mat, her neck secure in a headlock between Hux’s legs, and she was shaking with laughter.

“Dear me, Armitage, you don’t look it but you could kill a man with these,” she poked one of his lean but surprisingly strong thighs as she scrambled back up. Hux snorted. It was true that he didn’t look like someone who could knock a punch without breaking his own fingers, but he had his tricks.

“Pity that the one man I want to kill isn’t likely to ever put his head between my legs,” he laughed. His joke must have fallen flat because Phasma didn’t laugh at all, she merely raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?” he asked when the stretch of silence started making him nervous. Has he missed something?

“Nothing...” Phasma drawled. “Just that seduction is a tactic you haven’t tried yet.”

Hux balked. Then he tried to imagine it. Him coming onto the new Supreme Leader… getting down on his knees, offering to suck his cock…Would it match his huge hands? Would Ren perhaps smell the way he did on the gala, rich and sweet, with some exotic musk that clung to Hux's uniform well into the next day… Hux snapped out of his daydream, ignoring the stirring in his trousers. Seducing Ren would be undeniably horrible, he told himself sternly, but Hux had been through worse on his way up. Finally feeling like back on top of his game, he smiled at Phasma.

“Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer?”

She laughed again. “Just remember that I am your best friend.”

 

*

 

When it came to seducing someone who - as far as Hux knew - had probably spent his life in celibacy, Hux decided for a blunt approach.

“Please, do come in, Supreme Leader,” he called out when his door buzzed late into the night cycle after an urgent message he'd sent to Ren.

He waited until the door was safely slid shut behind Ren. Then he rose up from the sofa, the smooth material of his robe cool against his shower-heated skin, and let the robe slip off his shoulders and pool around his feet.

He expected shock, confusion, maybe even mockery. He expected it would take some time and effort to get Ren where he wanted him, naked, close and with his defences down.

He definitely didn't expect that Ren would cross the room in two strides, slide to his knees with his hands grasping Hux's slender hips, kiss a wet and reverent stripe down his pale stomach and nuzzle his face into the trail of ginger hair with a gasp of “Finally!”

Two hours later, Hux lay curled in his bed, Ren’s massive body curled around him in a protective cocoon of warmth, and for his life he couldn't grasp where exactly did his plans go so horribly, magnificently wrong.

It turned out that Kylo Ren was definitely not celibate. He was also more than eager to put his head between Hux's thighs, and did Hux take his chance and kill him? No. Not when Ren was on the his knees, swallowing him down like a starving man, not when he was stretching him with his tongue with Hux's thighs quivering around his ears, not even when Ren was pounding him into the the mattress, with Hux's legs hooked over his shoulders. Hux was truly hopeless at assassination. But to his credit, two best orgasms of his life in close succession would probably distract anyone.

“I swear you were trying to kill me,” Kylo murmured into the skin of his nape. Hux's eyes flew open. Did he… Did he know the whole time?

“How so?” he croaked. He wouldn't sound calm if he tried, his voice was hoarse from all that moaning and shouting.

Kylo cuddled him closer, nibbling on the shell of Hux's ear between words.

“For weeks now. It’s been driving me mad.”

How am I not dead, Hux wondered.

“You were always so prim, so proper. Always keeping your distance, nothing but the Order on your mind. And I was trying so hard to catch your attention, to impress you.”  _ Wait, what?  _

“Honestly, Armitage, if you didn't make a move today, I would have died,” Kylo sighed dramatically and caught Hux's earlobe between his teeth. 

Hux gave up. The laughter hiccuped out of him like from an overboiled pot, and once he started, he couldn't stop.

“Oh sorry, am I tickling you?”

“Yes,” Hux said because the truth was irrelevant at this point. What was he going to do with this idiot?

“Kylo?” he said experimentally, turning a little to gaze into Kylo's wide, dopey, sex-drunk eyes. “I think I am in love with you.”

For three glorious seconds, Kylo actually stopped breathing. But Hux found that he liked it better when he started again, after all. Then Kylo surged up, flipped Hux onto his back and started to pepper his face with sweet little kisses. His hard - again? - cock poked Hux in the side, and Hux decided that a third orgasm in as many hours certainly wouldn't kill him. 


End file.
